


You always take it further than I ever can

by RemainNameless



Series: Starts with "F", Ends with "U" [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Arson, Cuddling & Snuggling, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage, M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Videotaping, POV Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemainNameless/pseuds/RemainNameless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 12 of a series</p><p>Derek finds something of Rafa's that makes things a bit more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You always take it further than I ever can

**Author's Note:**

> YOOOO BROSKIS  
> if you're new, check out part one :)
> 
> anyway, this chapter references events from other chapters mostly. Everything's dub-con bc underage. Referenced consensual underage sex. Some non-consensual filming of an underage person, or, technically, videos taken of an unknowing underage person, one of a dub-con-because-underage event, one of a non-consensual event, the latter with negligible but incriminating detail, the former with a little more than that. That one is a scene from chapter two, with some non-negotiated/non-consensual, non-penetrative somnophilia. The watching of said videos is done consensually, however. 
> 
> thanks everyone for like hanging in there while i hemmed and hawed and bitched over this chapter <3 <3 <3

Stiles leans in to kiss Derek over the center console when he drops him off at home. It’s a kind of stuttering move, but Derek feels him smile against his mouth when he meets it. 

“I’ll come by after school,” Stiles tells him as he gets out of the car.

“After practice,” Derek corrects. “Lacrosse.”

“Shit, yeah, I forgot that pre-season was starting up,” Stiles says with a sigh. “Wait, how do _you_ know that?”

“How many times did someone shift on the field last season?”

Stiles smirks. “Okay, fair point. I’m going to pretend it’s because you really, desperately want to see me play, though. For the record, I expect you to make posters.”

Derek rolls his eyes, getting an uncomfortable mental image of himself sitting next to the Sheriff and having an ongoing stilted conversation for the duration of the game. 

“You don’t really have to make posters,” Stiles says quickly. “But it would be cool if you came. I mean, you usually do? But it would be cool if you were in the stands instead of lurking just past the tree line like a stalker.”

“I did that _once_ ,” Derek argues.

“Yeah, right. I mean, whatever, I’m just saying, if I’m first line this year, which is actually totally possible, we need to have an agreement that we won’t have any urgent supernatural business when I’m finally getting a chance to play on the actual field. Unless you’re about to die again, in which case, I’m cool with being your knight in shining armor.”

Derek remembers pulling him away from a couple games, remembers him being in his uniform at the time, but he doesn’t remember Stiles complaining about it. “I didn’t know lacrosse was that important to you.” That’s the best he can come up with, and he’s _trying_ , that’s the thing. But basketball had been more about duty; his mother made them all do a sport or two, for aggression, to look normal, to excuse their natural athleticism. He’s not really sure why other people play sports.

“It’s...it’s about being normal, you know? It’s something I wanted before my life turned into an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to let it go just yet.” 

Derek’s not quite sure what that means because his life has _always_ been kind of like this. Less shitty, for the first decade and a half, but he’s not even really sure what it would mean to be human without having to pretend. To be what Stiles calls ‘normal’ effortlessly and unconsciously.

“I’ll come by later, if that’s okay,” Stiles says at last. 

“No, Stiles, you _can’t_ come over,” Derek tells him, laying the sarcasm on a little thicker than normal, rolling his eyes. 

Stiles huffs a little dramatically, says, “Jerk. I guess I’ll take my fine booty elsewhere.” He smells a little off, though. Beneath his normal body-house-laundry scent, beneath Derek’s own scent, there’s the sharp tang of anxiety.

“ _Hey_. I like seeing you,” Derek’s out the door but leaning over the seat, forcing Stiles to make eye contact. “I want you to come over, got it? Always do. Don’t doubt that. If I ever don’t, I’ll tell you.” 

“Will that be any different from, like, all those times you told me to go away but really meant you were bored and being an asshole to entertain yourself?” It _seems_ like just a smart-ass thing, just him trying to avoid having an emotional conversation, which Derek _gets_. He really does. 

So he smirks, tells him, “Yeah, now hurry up and get your ass to school.”

He watches Stiles go, then listens to him head far enough down the road that Derek can’t hear him anymore. 

And then he pulls out his phone, calls the local cab company to send a car over. It’s too far to run in jeans, and it’s the middle of the day. It’s not a time when he can get away with running a good fifteen miles from where he lives.

 

The cab driver looks him over in the rearview mirror when he asks to be taken to the hospital, but doesn’t say anything. He’s got the oldies station playing, softly, and he doesn’t speak until they get there, when he tells Derek how much it costs. Nothing unnecessary. Derek can appreciate that. He’s not into meaningless talking, which is maybe why he likes when Stiles talks; he never says anything for no reason. 

 

The nurse sitting at her station looks up at him as she flicks through a magazine. 

“Visiting someone? Did you check in?” she asks. 

“I was hoping I could talk to Melissa McCall,” he says. His hands hang loosely at his sides because he’s not sure what to do with them. Flirting doesn’t seem to be right for the situation, and if he’s not flirting or fighting, he’s not really sure of how to talk to strangers. 

“She should be finishing her rounds pretty soon. Why don’t you have a seat.” 

He takes one of the plastic chairs, elbows on the arms, and looks around at the magazine stand and the posters on the wall. The nurse finishes whatever she’s reading as she picks up the phone and tucks it under her ear. It rings a couple times, Derek can hear it two floors up, can hear Mrs. McCall answer it. 

“ _Nurse McCall_.”

“I’ve got a handsome man to see you,” the nurse says, checking out her nails. 

There’s a little pause and Mrs. McCall asks, “ _Sheriff Stilinski?_ ” Which is _interesting_ , but not any of Derek’s business. 

“No, young guy. Strong arms.” She’s not lowering her voice or anything, but Derek can tell that she’s not attracted to him. 

“ _Alright. Tell him I’ll be right there_.” 

“She’s on her way,” the nurse tells Derek before returning to her magazine. Must be a slow day. 

A minute or two later, Melissa McCall comes in, a stethoscope hanging around her neck. She doesn’t look _too_ surprised or anything, just a little curious.

“Derek. What do you need?”

“Can we talk privately?” The other nurse’s eyebrow shoots up, and yes, he’s aware that it probably looks odd, so he says the first thing he can think of. “It’s about a rash?” Stiles snorts in an echo in his head, and Derek kind of wishes he could tell him about this to see his face. 

“Sure, okay,” she says, nodding with somewhat-wide eyes, then looks at the other nurse. “We’ll be in exam room one.”

She leads him out of the waiting area, down a hall, into a little room, and shuts the door behind them.

“Okay, _please_ tell me you were joking about the rash because I really don’t think I know enough about your whole healing thing to tell you anything.” 

“Can we talk freely in here?” he asks, looking around the room. 

“Yeah, what’s up? Is everyone okay?”

He nods. “Everyone’s fine. I need to ask you something. About your ex-husband.”

“Not ex,” she corrects automatically. “We never fully went through with all the paperwork, there was a lot of…Why, what’s he done?” Her eyes narrow at him, and he can smell something like dread coming off her. 

“How do I get to him?” he asks instead of answering. “What makes him tick?”

She sighs, leaning against the counter like her feet hurt. “Honestly? I don’t know. But if you figure it out, let me know, huh?” She rubs at her temples. “Did Stiles tell you what I told him?”

“No. What is it?”

The way she looks at him is something like a test. “You and he are a thing, aren’t you? I overheard Scott and Isaac talking about it a while back, and then the Sheriff asked me about it. About what I thought of you.” _That’s_ not something he’s going to ask about; he doesn’t really want to know.

“I’m trying to protect him. That’s all I want. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

“You know about Rafael, then, don’t you?”

He nods. “If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about, then yes.” 

“ _Jesus_. Has he done anything?”

“He’s arrested me,” Derek tells her, edging away from what she means. “And a little more than that. I think he might have set my car on fire. To frame me for destruction of evidence. He said something yesterday, implied it.”

Her breath comes out in a hiss. “That’s all, though, right? He hasn’t gotten anywhere near Stiles, has he?”

“I’ll do everything I can to stop that from happening.” _Again_ , he amends. 

“Alright. I’ll hold you to that.” She bites her lip. “Does Scott know?”

He shakes his head.

“Don’t tell him unless it’s absolutely necessary,” she says quickly. “I’d rather him think his father is just some asshole. I don’t want him to ever think that who Rafael is affects who he can be.”

“I won’t,” Derek promises. “Does the Sheriff know?”

She winces a little. “I haven’t talked to him about it. But I think that if he did, he wouldn’t let Rafael out of his sight. I’m not sure of what he’d do.”

It would depend, really. If he were to find out that Rafa just _wants_ Stiles, he’d probably keep him the fuck away. If he were to find out what Rafa’s _done_? Derek doesn’t _know_ the Sheriff, not that well, but he knows that he’d do a _lot_ to protect Stiles. Whether he’s the kind of man who would want revenge? Derek has no idea. 

“We’ll tell him if we need to,” Mrs. McCall says. “If it gets to that point.”

He’s not sure what _that_ _point_ is, and he’s pretty sure that they’ve reached it, but maybe Derek’s just afraid. There’s no way he’ll be able to look the Sheriff in the eye and tell him that he was there, that he did _nothing_ , that he’s failed Stiles so completely. 

“I don’t think we’ll get there,” Derek tells her. It’s too much of a lie for him to be comfortable with; he’s a bad liar. Werewolves tend to be either completely terrible or extremely talented liars.

“If it even _looks_ like there’s going to be a problem, you let me know, alright? Here, you have my phone number?” She puts her number in his phone and it makes him feel worse for some reason. “ _Use it_. I’m serious. I don’t care what time it is, you call me. Got it?”

It’s weird because he remembers his mom saying something similar to him the first time he went to a party, and that’s a humbling thing. “I will,” he promises, nodding. 

“Good.” She sighs, like half a weight has been taken from her shoulders, but she looks at him and it returns twice as heavy. “You’re just a kid, aren’t you? I forgot that, in all this talk about werewolves and alphas, but you’re still a kid. You should be in college now, shouldn’t you?” 

He shrugs. “I didn’t finish high school.” He’s not too sure why he tells her that, but there’s this particular sense of _mother_ about her that makes him want to tell her things and curl up at her feet. 

“Well, as soon as this situation blows over, come to me and we’ll work on that. You need a life, outside of all of this.”

“I _have_ a life,” he tells her. It comes out a little weak.

“You’re surviving. That’s not the same thing. And you could use a little help with _that_.” She gives him half a smile. “If you need anything, just ask. Scott, too. I know you two aren’t very friendly, but he’ll help, if you need it. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I know he will.” It’s a half-truth; he wants to believe it, and saying it makes it a little more true. Scott’s lied to him, but Scott’s also a kid. Kids make mistakes. Scott’s not _malicious_ in anyway. Derek’s just not very comfortable with trusting people, and when people he trusts lie to him, it makes it more difficult. But something about Scott makes him want to keep trusting, or, really, means that he never stopped, not entirely. 

Mrs. McCall stands up straight, settles onto her feet. “ Do you need anything else?”

He shakes his head, then, maybe a little late, says, “Thanks.”

 

He walks back home. The fresh air’s good. He’s never taken very well to captivity, and even if it wasn’t for long, it’s still somewhat novel to be breathing outside air. 

It’s a long walk, but he has a bit of time until Stiles is done for the afternoon. He and Stiles and the Sheriff are probably going to have to have negotiations for Stiles’ time. The Sheriff had been pretty clear at the station about having Stiles home by nine on weeknights, but Stiles wasn’t exactly there for that conversation. It’s a good thing, too, because with Rafa there, it would’ve been a clusterfuck basically.

It was _deeply_ satisfying, though, seeing Rafa’s face in the morning when they brought Derek in. Derek could’ve done worse, too. That’s the problem, maybe, that he doesn’t realize that he got off easy. That Derek could probably hurt him in ways he’s never even dreamed of. And _would_ , if he could get away with it. 

The thing is, he probably _could_. 

If he filled in Scott and the Sheriff, they’d probably help. It would be four against one and they’d be able to get away with it. But he’s not sure Rafa would be walking away from that one, and Derek’s not _quite_ sure he wants to kill anyone. Even him.

But he can’t tell anyone without Stiles’ permission, so it’s a moot point. Stiles won’t want him to tell anyone, he knows that much, because Stiles doesn’t understand that he’s the only one who’d think any of it was his fault. Derek’s smart enough to know that he won’t be able to convince him of that quickly or easily. They’ll get there sure enough, but he knows for a fact that Stiles doesn’t understand that even from the first time, it doesn’t fall on him.

He gets home, walks around his loft, smells Stiles everywhere. Stiles makes this place smell like somewhere he wants to be.

They probably shouldn’t have slept together. 

He _knows_ that, knows that it was a fucking terrible idea, considering, but it’s not like he didn’t want to, and _Stiles_ wanted to. That was all enough to overcloud his little shred of good judgement. He’s worried about it, though. That Stiles might kind of think that that’s what Derek wants him for. 

Yes, Derek wants him selfishly, but not for sex. Sex, he can get anywhere. It’s the rest of it. It’s finally being able to _relax_ , to let his guard down around someone. It’s the feeling of basic physical contact. Derek’s always been very tactile, but he doesn’t get to satisfy that need very much. But Stiles has always been comfortable with casual touches, with their legs resting against each other as they sit, or a hand on a shoulder, or stray elbows bumping. 

Derek wants him to fill the spaces others have left, wants his presence to illuminate the corners and crevices and depths with his persistence and life. Stiles keeps going when he should’ve stopped and laid down long ago, and Derek wants that. He wants to keep going, _has_ kept going, and he wants them both to lay down, too. Not for sex or anything, just to _rest_. A full-body, soul-deep rest where they can fall apart and spend some time helping each other put themselves together again. 

It shakes him a bit when his phone rings. School isn’t out yet, and it’s not Stiles, anyway. Wrong Stilinski. 

“Sir?” Derek answers. It feels weird coming out of his mouth, but he wants the Sheriff to like him.

“ _Derek_ , _I don’t have much time, but get a pen._ ” Derek hops up to his feet as he continues. “ _I can’t be sure, but I think Agent McCall might have had something to do with your car. He’s changed something in the report, and my gut’s telling me that’s why_. _Now, I have_ no _idea why he’d target you like that, but I’m going to find out. Now, you got that pen? Write this down_.” He rattles off an address, a hotel, and a room number.

“Is this where he’s staying?” Derek asks. It’s different from the place he went the other night, a nicer place, closer to town. 

“ _Yep. If you can search without leaving anything behind, do it. If not, find someone who can. Someone who’s_ not _my son. I can’t buy you a lot of time_ —”

“I don’t have a car,” Derek reminds him. 

“ _Shit. Alright. Can you rent one? Just for a day or two? Because I can hold him off for a few hours now, but I think he suspects something’s up. I don’t want him hiding anything when he gets back._ ” 

Derek grabs his door keys, heading out. “On it.” 

“ _Great. Don’t take anything with you, just take a picture or something. Don’t move anything around. Don’t leave prints. We just need to know if there’s evidence. I mean, I hesitate to even ask, but I’m worried about how much attention he’s paying you. I don’t want Stiles wrapped up in this. I’d like my son to make it to graduation without having been arrested._ ”

“I understand,” Derek tells him. “I’ll be careful.”

“ _Good. Text me if you find anything_.”

 

It takes almost an hour to get to the rental place and get a car. He picks out a recent model Prius, drives with the windows down because the smell of the cleaner they use on the upholstery is so thick he feels like he’s drowning in it. 

Derek doesn’t go to the address the Sheriff’s given him. Not at first. He goes to the motel, where Rafa might _actually_ hide something. 

Getting in isn’t too hard. He goes through a window in the back, near the desk. 

The room is clean, but doesn’t smell like any cleaning products. The maids haven’t been in in a while. Which is good. So Derek looks.

And looks. 

And _looks_. 

Checks under the bed, everywhere, comes up with absolutely nothing. Not even a gun.

So he goes back out to the car and thinks about it for a moment. 

Rafa knows Derek’s gunning for him. He knows Derek knows where the motel is. Which means he wouldn’t keep anything he wouldn’t want Derek to find in the motel, not after the other night. That leaves his _actual_ room and his car. Possibly even his desk, but that seems a little risky.

It’s _possible_ that, weighing possible threats, Rafa moved whatever was here at the motel to his hotel room temporarily. It’s possible. 

It’s possible enough that Derek goes to check it out.

Sneaking into a hotel is more difficult, so he pays for a room for the night instead. On the floor above Rafa’s. So he goes up, figures out the pattern of where rooms are, and heads to the balcony, a pair of gloves on. Listens for the rooms with no one inside so he can climb all the way to Rafa’s room. The sliding door is unlocked, but that’s not too surprising. No one expects someone to scale up to the fifth floor to break in. 

Rafa slept here last night; his scent’s fresher than it was at the motel. It’s a two-bed room, one with Rafa’s suitcase spilled over it. He’s not really a messy guy, so that’s unusual. Derek digs through the clothes a little but doesn’t find anything. Checks the bathroom, under the beds, the drawers. Nothing. 

There’s a safe, though, next to the mini-fridge. Derek can handle a safe just fine. For a brief time, he and Laura burgled. It wasn’t really a high point in their lives, but he knows his way around a safe with a rotating combination lock. 

Inside, there’s a gun, the one he’d used on Derek the other night, and a laptop in a case. Which Derek hadn’t really been expecting. He checks the time, and he’s got about half an hour before he really needs to get out. That’s not really enough time to thoroughly examine what’s on Rafa’s laptop.

It turns out that it doesn’t matter anyway — the laptop’s password protected. So Derek puts it back just like he found it, shuts the safe, turns the dial to the number it had been on before he got to it. 

Rafa’s got to have _something_ , though. Porn, probably. Everyone has porn. And his would be telling. There’s even a chance he might have pictures or something. He seems like that kind of pervert.

It wouldn’t be safe, though, he thinks. Having anything incriminating on his laptop. That’s the first place someone would look, isn’t it? No, if he were smart, which he is, he would keep anything he didn’t want someone to find separate. The question is _how separate_? Would he keep it on him? Or would he not want to risk it getting lost or found? 

Derek checks all of the pants pockets, the shirt pockets, then goes to where he’s hung up his jackets. The one he’d been wearing yesterday is there, so Derek checks that one first, the outer pockets, then the inner ones, then smooths his hands all over, looking, and _there_ it is. Sewn into the bottom hem. He takes off a glove to cut the thread with a claw, puts it back on before pulling out what’s hidden. Small, no bigger than the top digit of his thumb, and flat — a flash drive, going by the USB end. 

It could be nothing, but it might be something, considering the effort taken to hide it, so Derek pockets it. 

There’s not much time left, so he leaves out the front door, tucks his gloves in his back pocket after he’s pressed the button to call the elevator. 

 

And then he goes home. 

Stiles should be done with practice in under an hour. 

It feels like a bad idea, checking the flash drive before he gets here, but Derek _needs to know_. 

He texts the Sheriff as he boots up his laptop, just the word **Nothing.**  

Really, he’s not even sure what the Sheriff wanted him to look for in the first place. But it’s pretty unlikely that it’ll be anything on the flash drive. 

He plugs the thing into his computer, lets it do a virus check, then opens the thing up, braces himself for it. 

There’s pictures, alright. He makes them a little bigger so he knows for sure what he’s looking at, and yeah, that’s Stiles. They look like they were taken by a phone, most of them, in his room, and he’s in various states of undress, and _fuck_ , does he look young. But Derek scrolls until he finds the first video file, the date on it from almost a year ago. The ones after that, from the same day, were taken by a real camera and Derek doesn’t want to look at them because Stiles’ face might not be in the picture, but Derek’s seen that mole on his ass before, and it’s too much. His stomach turns and he shrinks the photos, scrolls. There’s a second video, dated two days ago, and when Derek sees the thumbnails for the pictures following it, he x-es out of the window, body burning. There’s a creak and he realizes he’s bending the metal table, claws out, and he forces himself to let go. Shuts the laptop, walks around.

Something needs to be done. Soon. 

He’s going to have to look again. He’s going to have to see if there’s anything incriminating, if they even have the option of holding legal repercussions over Rafa’s head.

But he’s going to have to work up to that. He’s going to end up breaking something otherwise. 

If there _is_ something of Rafa in there, enough to make a real identification, then what? Blackmail? Tell him that they’ll turn it all in to the police?

Rafa would probably call that bluff. There’s no way Stiles would ever let him turn any of this in. He’d _never_ want his dad to know, and since his dad _is_ the police, well, that doesn’t give them a lot of options. The Sheriff isn’t going to find out unless Stiles is in immediate danger and he can somehow help. Stiles probably wouldn’t want him to do it even then, but at that point, Derek might be hard-pressed to care. 

They’re not really in a good place with all of this. Especially if Rafa figures out that Derek has this. 

When Stiles gets here, he’ll tell him. They’ll figure out what to do from there. 

 

Stiles is late. 

By almost half an hour. 

He doesn’t smell like Rafa, though. Lydia, yes, but that’s nothing to worry about. They’re friends. Part of him wonders if Stiles still loves her a little, but thinking like that’s pointless. 

“Sorry, practice ran late,” Stiles says, dropping his backpack by the door. He’s not lying, so maybe it did, but he’s not mentioning that he met with Lydia, either. That’s okay. He doesn’t have to tell Derek his whole life.

Derek’s on the couch, where he’s been sitting for too long, stewing. Stiles comes over to him a little, but he stops before he gets all the way there. 

“I wasn’t sure if I should come, actually,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t meet Derek’s eyes. 

“Why not?”

Stiles shrugs. “I wasn’t sure if this was all for real, I guess. It is, though, isn’t it? You like me a little, don’t you?”

“More than a little,” Derek tells him. It’s an understatement, but it’s enough to make Stiles’ mouth curl, make him come over and settle on the couch against Derek’s side. Derek can smell himself on him, just a little. He’s showered, probably after practice. Derek lifts his arm up, lets Stiles tuck himself in. 

“I have a question for you. A weird one,” Stiles says as he curls into Derek’s ribs. “How do you feel about Peter? I mean, he’s really the only one who could’ve killed the Darach, and he convinced you to give up your alpha powers and he’s just generally kind of a lying dick, but you haven’t killed him yet. You didn’t want to all summer, I know that much. Do you really want him around?”

“Peter’s…family. I can’t kill him again. It’s not right.” He’s not really sure where Stiles is going with this, but he doesn’t have to wonder for long.

“What if someone else did it? And you didn’t even have to be there?”

Derek frowns for a moment, until Stiles looks up at him. “Who’s going to kill Peter?”

“Will you let them do it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Derek says. 

He’s not really sure, to be honest. Instinct says he shouldn’t, says Peter’s still part of his pack, even though they’re both omegas now. Peter _did_ help him save Cora’s life, but he can’t be _trusted_. By anyone. And he’s never been a _good guy_. But he’s family. But maybe if Derek’s not the one to do it, maybe if he just lets it happen, maybe that would be alright. He did kill Laura, but Derek already killed him once for that. Though he’s not sure if it counts if Peter comes back. 

“I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to see it.”

“You won’t have to,” Stiles says quickly. “You’re not involved at all, don’t worry. Well, you’re not involved with _that_. There’s something else I might ask you to help me with.”

Derek looks at him, waits.

“I want Rafa gone. I want to scare him away. I can’t do it by myself, but I don’t want to ask you to do it, either, honestly. But you and— you understand why I need to do it, and he can’t say anything to you about me that I won’t be able to handle you hearing. And you…well, he’d never see you coming. What with the—” he makes little fangs with his fingers. “But I don’t want you to, like, expose yourself if you don’t want to. I can figure something else out.”

“I’ll do it,” Derek tells him, “but you need to know something. Your dad asked me to search his place, and I found something. Some pictures. Videos. If you need it, we have stuff on him.”

“Of what? Pictures and videos of _what_?” Stiles’ fingers are twisted in his shirt and his body is coiled tight, scent a little fear-sour. 

There’s no point in being anything but honest.

“You. Some of them are old, but some of it’s more recent. _Really_ recent.”

“How many videos? Did you—” Stiles cuts off, doesn’t finish.

Derek shakes his head. “I didn’t watch them. There’s two, though. One from a while ago, one from the other night.” 

“That _fucker_ ,” Stiles spits. Derek can hear his teeth grinding for a moment, then he says, “I want you to watch them. I can’t do it, but I need to know, alright? Do you have them here?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, nodding at his laptop over on the table. 

“Don’t do it while I’m here. But do it. Please.”

“I will,” he tells Stiles because he has no idea how he’s supposed to say no to that. 

“Thanks.” Stiles is a little more relaxed, but he still seems on-edge. “Can we just lie down for a while? Is that weird?” 

Derek shakes his head. “I like lying with you. It’s _fine_.” 

They end up with Stiles wedged between him and the couch, Derek mostly on his back with Stiles half on top of him. It feels good, really, having Stiles’ body heat against him, his leg over his stomach and arm just under his chin. He tucks his head on top of Derek’s, body a little closer to the arm of the couch. Derek breathes with his face turned into his sternum. 

“I have such a big crush on you,” Stiles says after a minute or two. His fingers play with Derek’s hair. 

“I guess that works out for us, then, because I’ve got a crush on you, too.” It feels weird and young to say, but it makes sense coming out of his mouth and Stiles snorts fondly above him. 

“I can’t believe you just said that. I’m so glad you’re such a loser. Otherwise we’d have a problem—”

Derek rolls his eyes, interrupting, “You said it _first_ , how am _I_ the loser?”

“Because you said it _back_. That’s just how it works. I don’t make the rules, dude. You’re a loser. Coincidentally, I’m also a bit of a loser, so it could be worse, you know. I could be, like, _massively_ cooler than you, but hey. It all works out.”

“Why are you only a _bit_ of a loser if you said it first?” Derek mumbles into his chest.

“Well, one of has to be the cooler one. _Obviously_ , that falls to me.”

Derek huffs at that because Stiles is operating on logic he doesn’t understand, and rolls over into Stiles’ body, wrapping an arm around him. Stiles pulls him in a little with his leg, cozies Derek’s head further into his chest. 

“If I’d know that all it would take for you to get your snuggle on is telling you you’re a loser, I would’ve done that a _long_ time ago.” 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Derek tells him, smiling a little as he breathes in Stiles’ scent. 

It’s warm and quiet for a moment before Stiles says, “You know, everyone knew we did the dirty. It was pretty great. I got to be proud of it, and it was something we actually _did_. So that was cool.” 

“I was worried we moved a little fast.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, and Derek can hear a little frown. “What, were we supposed to wait until after the third date before doing the hanky panky? Today didn’t come out of nowhere, and it wasn’t just about sex. If it was, there’s no reason we would’ve waited this long. There’s been too many times you could’ve convinced me to let you fuck me pretty easily, but you didn’t try. So. I feel good about it. Do you not?”

“I _do_ , but it wasn’t just me,” Derek tells him because he’s really fucking afraid of this all starting in a bad place. “And just because we had sex once doesn’t mean we have to again, if you don’t want to. It’s okay. I just want this to be _good_. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“I know that, would you just—” Stiles shimmies down so their faces are close. “ _Look at us_ , dude. We’re both going to fuck this up at least a _little_. But we’re going to be okay anyway because that’s just who we are. We’re survivors. It’s what we do. It kind of sucks sometimes, a _lot_ of the time, but we’ll be okay. You’ve got me and I’ve got you and we’ll always be okay”

He smiles, small, and butts his nose against Derek’s, infecting him with the certainty of his belief. His breath is light and his face is soft and his mouth bumps across Derek’s face with a lazy purpose. 

Derek wants to believe him so much that he does. That, in itself, is nothing surprising since that’s basically how they’ve always worked. But for him to believe it in the face of everything he’s ever had or started that’s failed, that he’s _ruined_ , that’s something else. Hope’s not a welcome feeling for him, but it blazes clear and bright, bleeds out of Stiles’ mouth into his own, and it feels _good_ for the first time in a while. 

 

Stiles leaves around dinner time. His mouth is swollen red and there’s a hickey tucked under his collar, where Derek went over his mark from earlier, because they got so caught up in making out that they forgot to do anything else. He gives a little wave, smile lopsided.

Derek’s kind of in a daze because he can still taste Stiles in his mouth, stares at the shut door for a few minutes after Stiles leaves with his fingers pressed to the cooling burn of his lips. 

After a while, he gets up, rummages around in the freezer for a burrito. Puts it back. 

He’s going to have to look at the videos on that flash drive, and he’s not going to want to do it on a full stomach. Or before he goes to bed. He needs to just get it over with. 

He starts with the first video, skipping over the camera phone pictures quickly because he feels really fucking weird to be seeing Stiles like that. Like a voyeur. It’s gross. 

The video is worse and better in a way. Better because Stiles has told him to watch it, worse because it’s more real. 

It’s Stiles on a bed in a bedroom, on his hands and knees. Derek’s stomach churns and he’s afraid, sees a man, Rafa, he assumes, come into frame and lock handcuffs on him. He’s wearing pants, which Derek’s not sure is good or bad. And then he starts spanking him. Just his hand at first, then his belt. It makes Derek hurt a bit, but Stiles jerks a bit more on a particularly heavy blow and Derek sees that’s he’s hard, and he’s not sure what to think.

Rafa speaks, which is good, at least, because maybe it’ll be enough to identify him, but then he lucks out. Rafa’s face is in frame, just for a moment, before he’s burying it in Stiles’ ass. That’s enough to make Derek’s stomach flip. Jealousy, maybe, and rage, a bit of both. 

When Stiles comes, he drops his gaze. _He shouldn’t be watching this_. It’s wrong because he knows the gaze this video was meant for, knows that Rafa’s probably jerked off to this, to this image of Stiles pornographized when his first orgasms with another person should’ve been blushing and sweaty with someone his own age. Not here, like this, for someone to get off too later.

He watches Rafa put some sort of toy into him, then looks away, catching it all in his peripheral vision because he can’t look at it dead-on. 

Stiles makes a noise eventually, slumps over, and Derek’s staring at his own knee by this point until there’s all sorts of movement and he looks up. The camera’s been moved from a tripod of some sort, and now Rafa’s holding it in his hands. Pointing it at Stiles’ ass, moving over him grotesquely. Then there’s a dick in view, one Derek’s seen before, and he has to look away. He doesn’t fuck Stiles or anything, just gets in for a few nauseating close ups and jerks off over him before it goes black. 

He’s not really ready, but he’s not sure he’ll ever be ready, so he goes down to the second video, starts it up with a hand over his eyes. Through the cracks between his fingers, he sees Stiles’ nude form in a line across the bed, hears Rafa laugh in the background, and that’s all he can take of that. 

Yes, he promised Stiles he would do it, and that’s enough to make him hit the space bar, play another couple seconds before he hits it again and shuts it off. The first video was hard enough to watch. This is something he can’t handle. 

Stiles wants to know. Or he thinks he does. 

Derek turns his laptop on mute and instead of hitting _play_ , just scrubs through the hour-long video, fast enough that he can’t see any details but he can see enough that he can tell Stiles _something_. If he even really wants to know. 

It’s pretty clear, though, that there’s enough to condemn Rafa here. He’s fucked if they ever did anything with this, _completely_ fucked. And in the first one, at least, he _does_ say Stiles’ name. That’s enough. 

But it wasn’t ever really going to be a lack of evidence that was the real problem. It’s Stiles’ guilt or shame, and Derek wants to break Rafa for making him feel that, wants to grind him into dust. He doesn’t get to do that, though. Stiles gets that moment. Derek will do whatever he has to to make that happen. 

What he does right now though is delete all the camera phone photos of just Stiles. If he’s ever forced to give this to anyone, they don’t need to see that. They don’t need anything that’ll allow them to pretend Stiles has been willing in all this. Maybe he has been, at points, but there’s a world of difference between doing what he’s done at eighteen with someone his own age and doing it at fifteen with his best friend’s father. That’s a power differential that Stiles shouldn’t have had to be on the losing side of.

Derek checks his phone. There’s a message from Stiles, a **Come over. Dad wants you here for dinner.**  

It’s from ten minutes ago, but he sends a quick **On my way** before pocketing the flash drive and grabbing his keys. 

 

The Sheriff’s the one who opens the door, shakes his hand and lets him in. Stiles is in the dining room, setting out plates. 

The Sheriff, eyes locked on Derek, turns towards the other room and says, “Stiles, why don’t you go upstairs and do some homework until dinner’s ready.” Stiles sighs, a plate is set down, and when he passes through the living room to the stairs, he makes a face at Derek over his father’s shoulder. The Sheriff leads him into the dining room, glancing toward the upstairs. “Is he listening?” he asks quietly. 

“He’s in his room,” Derek answers. 

“Good. Now, were you careful? What did you see?”

Derek hesitates before answering, but he’s pretty sure it’ll be for the best to tell him as much as possible. “He’s got a gun. It was in his hotel safe. The room’s clean, otherwise, but he…he has a another room. I don’t know which one he sleeps at, which he would keep anything we could use against him at.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“I searched it,” Derek says, “but I don’t think there’s anything there that’ll lead back to him. He’s careful. It’s paid in cash.” 

The Sheriff frowns, looking down as he thinks for a moment before looking back at Derek. “If there’s nothing to lead back to him, then how do you know about the room?” Derek hesitates, afraid of saying the first answer that comes to mind, the _true_ answer. “If I look at the security footage of that place, am I going to like what I find?”

“It doesn’t seem like the kind of place that has working security cameras,” Derek says quickly. “What are you asking? Do you want to know if I’ve provoked him? Because I promise you, it’s just the opposite.”

“You wouldn’t know anything about how he broke his nose, then, would you?”

Derek shrugs. “He won’t come around and point at me for it. That’s all that matters.”

“Is there something supernatural going on here?” the Sheriff asks in a low voice. “Because I’m in the know. I can help if you tell me what the _hell_ is going on.”

“I can’t,” Derek says, searching for a reason he’ll take. “You’ll need plausible deniability for this. The less you know, the safer you are.” 

“I know that song, but you didn’t write it. What’s Stiles gotten himself into now?”

“Nothing I’m going to let him try to handle alone,” Derek tells him.

The Sheriff stares at him for a long moment. “I want to like you, I do, but there’s a part of me that remembers how he was just a normal kid before you came back to town.” Derek flinches, wants to correct him, defend himself, but there’s no way to tell him that this all started before Derek and Stiles even met. That Derek’s just been doing his best to keep them together.

“I understand,” Derek says, looking away. 

“I believe you do, and that’s why I’m not trying to keep you apart or whatever. Like that’s ever worked for any parent anyway.” The Sheriff gives him a heavy, tired look, that, after a moment, turns into half a smirk that’s more than a little familiar. “Seriously, though, I’m not buying my kid concealer because his boyfriend needs a muzzle.” He winks before yelling for Stiles and Derek could happily un-live the past ten seconds. 

It’s not _that_ bad, overall. Just new. Derek’s never been _the boyfriend_. He’s never done a dinner with the parents or played footsie under the table. Granted, it started a little rough and the footsie devolves into them kicking each other because one-upmanship didn’t die with the Cold War, but it’s not bad. Not bad at all.

They’re almost done with dinner when Derek hears a buzzing. Not the same pattern as Stiles’ phone, so he tells the Sheriff, “Your phone is ringing.” He sighs, drops his napkin on the table as he gets up. 

“Quick, let’s make out before he gets back,” Stiles says with a grin.

“ _I heard that!_ ” the Sheriff calls from the other room.

Stiles winks and touches Derek’s hand, fingers tracing over the ridge of his thumb. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “I like that this isn’t some secret about a secret, you know?”

Derek nods because he _gets it_. He feels like he’s been living in the shadows, hiding everything from everyone, but he doesn’t have to hide _this_. Not from the Sheriff, at least. Not from the people they know. Hell, he doesn’t have to hide it from _Stiles_ anymore. Not that he’d been doing a great job at that, but it’s nice, having at least this one part of his life that he doesn’t really have to hide. 

He hears his name, though, in the other room, tunes in, hears, “— _ation sent everything they’ve got, but the whole building’s gone up in flames. They’ve got trucks from Northwest Vista coming in to help put it out_ —”

“What is it?” Stiles asks, and Derek shakes his head, getting up.

“— _know you’ve taken an interest in him, thought you might want to know in case you know how to get ahold of him. We don’t know how many people were in the building in the first place_.”

“He’s okay,” the Sheriff says, his face long and pale as he meets Derek’s gaze. “I’m with him now. I’ll let him know.”

“ _Good, I just saw the address looked familiar. You think this is a coincidence?_ ”

“Let me get back to you on that one,” the Sheriff tells the deputy on the other end before hanging up. 

“Dad? What’s going on?” Stiles asks from behind him. 

“Derek’s apartment building is on fire,” the Sheriff says with a heavy sigh. 

It’s not really hitting him, and he _knows_ that it should be, that he should be reacting to this, but he can’t really think about it, stumbles over it in his head. 

“Fuck this, I’m so done with all of this,” Stiles barks as he grabs his keys from the dish by the door. Derek doesn’t move, but the Sheriff does, calling out for him as he manages to catch Stiles by the arm before he can make it out the door. 

“Where do you think you’re going? They have _no_ idea how the fire started, let alone _where_ —”

“What, like Derek’s _car_?” Stiles snaps. “That’s where he _lives_ , Dad. Derek could’ve been there. He almost _was_ there. This has gone too far.” 

“A car is one thing. An apartment? That’s _completely_ different. Hate to break it to you, but it _happens_. We can’t assume it’s arson until we know more.” He slumps a little, watching Stiles, whose jaw is trembling in anger, and Derek feels like he’s not really in the room at all. “If you’re thinking it’s who I think you’re gunning for, this is a pretty extreme thing to do, you know that, right? He might be an asshole, but he’s a _federal agent_.”

Stiles snarls, “ _Like that’s ever stopped him from doing anything_.” Derek grabs for him instinctively, his arm, sliding down to his hand. Tries to soothe him. 

“He doesn’t have a _motive_ , for any of it!” the Sheriff says, hands flying. “Or he doesn’t as far as I know, because you won’t _tell me anything_.”

“He’s fucking nuts, that’s all you need to know,” Stiles tells him.

“No, that’s _not_ all I need to know, goddamnit! I need to know why you’re so _sure_ that your best friend’s _father_ is capable of setting a goddamn _building_ on fire. I need to know why your first thought is that he’s targeting Derek, and I need to know why you _still_ think you can’t tell me anything that’s going on around here!”

Stiles stares at him for a moment, then squeezes Derek’s hand, turns to him. “You’re okay, you know that?” 

“And you’re just going to ignore me. Why am I not surprised?” 

Stiles jerks to look at him. “We’re putting that conversation on pause because I can only deal with about ten million things at once. If you just _trust_ me, then know that he could probably hate Der—”

“What time did he leave?” Derek asks the Sheriff. “McCall, what time did he leave the station? Did he have time to go home and then set the fire?”

“Why?” There’s a very suspicious look being aimed at him right now, and he might as well tell.

Derek bites his tongue for a second, then says, “I may have taken something. Something he _really_ wouldn’t want anyone getting their hands on.”

Stiles’ grip goes tight on his hand. “I swear to God, Derek, if you—”

“I’m _not_. But he should know that much.” He looks at the Sheriff. “I can’t show you what I have, but know that he’d do a lot to make sure you never see it. Something that would land him in prison or worse.” 

“Assuming I believe you,” the Sheriff says, “will he go after you again if he figures out you’re alive? Do you still have it, even? Or was it in your apartment?”

“I’ve got it on me. But he won’t stop, not with what—”

He stops, his ears picking out a heartbeat he knows all too well.

“What is it?” Stiles asks. Derek shakes his head, stalks towards the door. The heartbeat grows louder, the sound of breath, and then footsteps. Stiles and the Sheriff are backing towards the stairs, and maybe they should be.

The footsteps stop on the porch. The doorbell chimes. Maybe it’s a fucking terrible idea, but Derek opens the door.

“Well well well, look who’s alive,” Peter says with half a smirk. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have been worried about you after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> and there's one chapter left....maybe two if it's like grossly long. but probably just one.


End file.
